What We (Must) Talk About When We Talk About Weddings
by kokopelle
Summary: How does a groom unintentionally make his bride take back her "I Do" in the middle of the wedding? Let Quatre count...imagine...er, try to figure out the ways. A 4xD installment to "Love and Other Explosive Items" ficlet series, sequel to "Birds, Bees, and Bad Girls," Contains more fluff than I intended.


**Disclaimer:** Gundam Wing and all its characters © Sotsu Agency, Sunrise, and TV Asahi. All fanfics are not for profit.

**A/N:** Latest installment to _Love and Other Explosive Items_ and a sequel to "Birds, Bees, and Bad Girls". This fic's standalone, but it has lots of nods to my other story "Blind Spot" so it would be more fun if you've read that. See my profile page for the links of other stories in this series. Enjoy! :)

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**What We (Must) Talk About When We Talk About Weddings  
**by kokopelle

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When Dorothy said she would make their wedding day the most unforgettable day ever, Quatre had thought she had meant the happiest.

He had teased her that it better be, since dealing with her Bridezilla mode six months before the date was no mean feat. It would be beautiful, she had said. He had imagined it would be better than those flicks his sisters used to watch. He had thought he would be in cloud nine during the whole ceremony. Heck, fairytales had even crossed his mind. He had thought it would be… surreal, in the best kind of way.

Oh, it was all of those all right—at least in the beginning. There were just two things he hadn't considered: that this kind of happiness would run on a Cinderella's clock, and that he should have read the thesaurus' less twee side for "unforgettable" when he crammed his head with silly daydreams.

Quatre closed his stinging eyes against the self-rebuke. He was slumped on the church steps, and for the fiftieth time that afternoon he lost his inner battle, a tear escaping from his right eye. He glanced at his watch.

It has been thirty-six minutes since Dorothy left him at the altar.

A heavy feeling descended on his chest again, eclipsing the remnants of shock. There were telltale beginnings of a heart burn, but it had never quite gone there, as if even his Space Heart was trying hard not to contribute to the sudden emotional drop. It hurt just the same, thinking of the "unforgettableness" of it all.

He did not know what to do. The others had tried to linger around and go to him, but he had convinced Rashid to take everyone to the Mansion for the reception…or just courtesy dinner, since there technically has not been a wedding for a real reception. It was all in vain, of course. Only his business associates went. All forty Maguanacs, his sisters, Miss Relena, and his other friends from 195 had insisted to stay. They respected his demands for alone time, so he guessed that was okay.

Quatre rubbed his temples. It was funny how one's best day could turn to the worst. Earlier his heart had been pounding loud, and Trowa had whispered to him a rare "she's very beautiful" compliment while watching Dorothy walk down the aisle. He could tell Dorothy was happy, too. It just all fell apart, for some reason, after they exchanged vows.

He could remember how her smile had faded. How a look of epiphany had painted itself on her face. It was as if she realized something big at the last minute, like a person who jumped off a building only to realize he did not want to die a few seconds after his feet slipped off the ledge. She had stepped back a little, shaking her head.

"This is wrong," she had whispered disbelievingly. It took her a while before she looked Quatre in the eye, mouthing an "I'm sorry" before bolting to the doors. She had never once looked back when he called her name. Trowa had run after her, but he came back shaking his head. The church had erupted in an astonished buzz.

Did she realize she was surrendering her freedom? Quatre would never cage her in, she knew that. Did she realize he didn't deserve her? That bit could be true, but she had convinced him time and again that they belong together. He had scoured his memory bank for every little fault he has, every single mistake he'd done during their half-a-decade of what you might call a relationship, but he could not find one that could push Dorothy to change her mind. That, or he had grown too cocky to notice it.

"Quatre."

He did not need to look up to know who it was.

"Five years, Trowa," Quatre said, his voice breaking. "Why did she have to wait five years to break my heart?"

There was no use fighting the tears, so he just wiped them when they poured. Trowa sat next to him but did not offer any answer. He could not blame him. What do you say to a situation like this, anyway? How do you console your friend?

"I must have done something wrong," Quatre continued. "I just...I just wish I know what it is."

Trowa opened his mouth—perhaps to offer a volley of proofs that Dorothy fleeing was not his fault—but his words went stillborn when they were interrupted by the clanking sounds of…something huge.

Both of them snapped their heads at the source of the noise. Trowa was quick on his feet, but Quatre could only gawk when he realized what just landed in front of the church.

A mobile suit. A mobile suit he would be able to recognize anywhere, since he designed it himself. A mobile suit he painted _pink_, just to spite the person he architected it for.

"It's…" muttered Trowa. Apparently his friend recognized it, too.

There was no doubt about it. It was a "Queen" Quatre designed for Dorothy's MS chess game before they got engaged.

His heart skipped a beat when the suit's hatch hissed open. Bit by bit it revealed that the dashboards and the whole cockpit floor were covered with the folds of a wedding gown. Nestled in the middle of this scrunched white nest was, indeed, _her_.

Quatre released the breath he did not realize he was holding.

Dorothy has not raised her eyes yet. She was busy freeing herself of the harness that hugged her to the seat, and by the looks of it she was trying hard not to get frustrated. Ignoring the boiling emotions in him, Quatre approached the mech and hopped to the latch. He pried her fingers from the buckle and clicked it open, sending her bending forward to him with what sounded like a laugh.

"And I was about to think chivalry's dead," she teased. He beamed, but he knew it did not look the way he imagined it when her reaction fell.

"What's wrong?"

"Shouldn't I be the one to ask you that?" he asked in what he hoped was his calmest tone.

"What do you mean?"

_Please stop playing with me,_ Quatre wanted to demand. "Why did you come back?" he muttered instead.

She looked startled, but she lifted an eyebrow to cover it. "Did you expect me not to?"

"Well," he explained with a bitter edge to his voice, "a runaway bride who changed her mind and rushed back to her ex-groom is an extremely rare case."

To his confusion, a look of horror graced her face. She stared ahead, mouthed the word "runaway", and turned to Trowa.

"You didn't tell him, did you?" she asked incredulously.

Trowa's answer was a lopsided smile, to which Dorothy responded with a colorful four-letter-word.

Quatre was confused. "What's going on?"

"I didn't run away," Dorothy started explaining, an edge of panic in her voice.

"Technically you did," Trowa quipped.

"Shut up! Quatre, I didn't run away. I just forgot something."

_…what?_

Dorothy fell back to the seat and rummaged through a box—the collapsible tea caddie he had agreed to attach on the side dashboard after all—and pulled out a smaller box from it.

"I didn't say anything to you because you'd stop me for sure. Before I leave I knew I have to tell at least one person where I'm headed so you people would spare yourselves from coming to tacky conclusions… like me dumping my groom at the altar. Then your one moron of a best man here," she shot a look at Trowa, "caught up with me on the steps, and I asked him to tell you I'll be back as fast as I can. I didn't want to worry you. I didn't realize I should have told someone more _reliable_."

Quatre heard his friend let out an uncharacteristic snort. "I don't understand," he said, still baffled but at least feeling a tad lighter than before. "What's so important it can't wait until after our wedding?"

"These." Dorothy extended her hand with the box. "We can't go on with the wedding without these."

She opened the box, revealing a pair of silver rings.

He did not get it.

"We already have our rings."

"I know," she sighed more than said.

"And these are silver. You never do silver. You want everything gold."

"I know! But they're special, Quatre. They're from Sandrock."

His eyes widened at the name. "I'm sorry?"

Dorothy swiped stubborn locks away from her face. "They're from Sandrock. I heard Miss Po once got a hold of your Gundam when you left it on Earth during the war. They still have parts from when they repaired it so I asked for a piece, then have it forged into rings. This is one of the most important days of our lives, Quatre. I thought you'd love Sandrock to be a part of it, too."

Quatre stood immobile, letting what she said sink in. Instead of a war machine he had viewed Sandrock as a friend, an ally with which he fought his way to achieve peace…an extension of his body, really. Dorothy must have realized he missed his Gundam; she must have understood how important it was to him. He should have known she had gotten an idea during their MS chess game sessions, as he thought of Sandrock non-stop and she could read his mind with the ZERO. Warmth swaddled his heart. Her plan went awry, but for her to go all that trouble and have it dominoed into this…

"You should've just told me," he finally whispered.

"It wouldn't be much of a surprise if I did, would it? I got to surprise myself too, if you come to think of it," she chuckled.

Quatre shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. "I thought…I thought…"

"I'm so sorry, Quatre," she whispered, sliding her arms around his neck. "I was busy ironing out the smallest details of our day I forgot the most important thing! Thank God MS Queen here has flight mode. I didn't want to hijack an ancient vespa again to go back here."

Despite himself, Quatre let out a gulp of laugh. Dorothy stealing a scooter! He imagined her causing a scene on the high way, what with her gown billowing around her as she rushed in the traffic.

"But you didn't," he murmured to her neck.

"I didn't what?"

"Forget. You're here now, and that's the most important thing."

"Sap."

"Look who's talking."

"Whatever. I'm still terribly sorry about it. But then again," her tone changed, leaning back to glare comically at Trowa, "it's your fault you didn't choose a better best man."

"Quatre, please tell your bride she's met her insults quota for the day."

"You two stop it," Quatre scolded. "After this, I'm so going to be angry with the both of you I won't talk to you for months."

"Way too high of a goal," Dorothy chuckled, "since right after this we're going on a honeymoon."

Trowa cracked up, and Quatre gave up and joined him. He closed his eyes and put his hand on his chest. There was a riot in there, and again he did not know what to say or do. His emotions were no longer suffering. They were floating along in a bliss that replaced all the negative things lingering there a few minutes ago.

"Well? If you're not going to say anything anymore I guess I must do this again."

Dorothy pushed Quatre lightly to indicate she needed a little space. She hunched her dress up to pull its folds away from being hooked around joysticks and other controls. Then she sank into her knees, offering him the Sandrock rings.

"Take two," she said with a wink. "Make me Mrs. Quatre Winner for the rest of our lives? For real this time?"

"Is pulling a runaway groom included in the options?" he teased.

Dorothy raised her eyebrow. "Just 'yes' or 'yes'."

"Fine," he said, pecking a quick kiss on her forehead. He tugged at her hand to make her stand up. "We have to hurry. We've got a lot of explaining to do. Good thing most people decided to stay after you left."

Trowa hummed to get their attention. When they did not look at him, he cleared his throat.

"They already know," he announced when they turned their heads.

"What? How?"

He shrugged. "I told them. Right after Dorothy left."

Quatre's jaw fell, and he swatted away the string of surprise-induced swearwords in his head. "You what?"

Trowa shrugged again. "You've told me a hundred times how you've always imagined this day to be extra-memorable for you and Dorothy. Does this one cover it? Think of it as a surprise wedding gift. I'm not sorry about it."

"Trowa!"

"If it makes you feel better, I'll admit we've had a hard time restraining the others. Heero had even threatened to handcuff Relena if she tried to break away from us and spill everything to you."

Quatre could not help it; he laughed.

"Also, I gave Dorothy forty minutes. I was about to tell you everything when she arrived."

Silence enveloped them for a while. It was Dorothy who broke it first with a chuckle.

"You've officially been around Dorothy too long," Quatre elbowed his friend who smiled in agreement.

"Let's go," Trowa ushered them. "Everyone's been waiting for almost an hour now."

"I hate you both," Quatre concluded, looking up at the sky.

"Oh we know," Dorothy assured him, exchanging meaningful glances with Trowa. "We know."

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fin


End file.
